


(I'm Tired of Taking My Aim) When I Keep on Missing

by Maaarken



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Archery, Bucky Barnes is socially awkward, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Deaf Clint Barton, Dogs, Happy Ending, Hurt Clint Barton, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Tentacle Sex, POV Clint Barton, Swearing, Tentacle Monsters, Worried Bucky Barnes, but no dog kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9733901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maaarken/pseuds/Maaarken
Summary: Valentine's Day fic.In which Bucky is a worrywart and doesn't know how to care for people without acting like a jerk, Clint is a klutz and loves dogs, Lucky likes Clint, Natasha reads magazines and Steve and Tony are trying to be good bros.AKA the story of how Bucky thought he knew more about archery than Clint and accidentally destroyed his confidence.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the movie Kiki’s Delivery Service, more precisely on the part in which Kiki can’t fly on her broom. Also based on the criticism of Hawkeye’s archery stance in the movies. The title comes from the song Broken Arrows by Daughtry, which I listened to when I wrote this :)

It’s starts with the little things. Bucky starts glaring at him during missions or battles. And not the good glare. The _Winter Soldier_ one. And Clint can’t deny it’s creeping him out. He knows Bucky is completely himself now, entirely ridden of the Winter Soldier - Steve has made sure of that - but that glare is still intimidating. But Clint is the World’s Greatest Marksman and he won’t let himself be intimidated that easily. And so he just ignores the glares sent his way, focusing instead on the enemies around them.

After a particularly tiring mission, Bucky approaches Clint as soon as they arrive at Stark Tower. Clint is tired and covered in blood, and all he wants is to take a hot shower and then go to sleep.

“Your stance is horrible,” says the assassin.

Clint freezes.

“What?” is all he can say, deeply offended, but also too tired to react more than that.  
“Your posture. When you shoot. Even the worst amateurs know not to shoot like that,” states Bucky blandly, before turning away and exiting the room.

Clint is too surprised to even follow him and ask for an explanation. He is the _World’s Greatest Marksman_ , for fuck’s sake! He knows how to shoot! He stomps off to his room, outraged someone doubts his skills. And well, no one has to know if the next morning finds him googling “archery common mistakes” and “archery good posture”.

Two days later, Steve, Sam, Bucky and him are infiltrating a Hydra base. Clint hadn’t forgotten what Bucky had said - how could he? It was the first time someone doubted his skills since he’d started at the Carnival, and that was a hell of a long time ago. However, Bucky doesn’t seem to have finished glaring at his fellow teammate. He is staring at Clint with his mouth turned downward in disgust, as if Clint is a slimy cockroach on the floor and he wanted nothing more that to squash it - which is, by the way, very insulting, thank you! So Clint makes sure to adopt the stance he has seen in a youtube video, double checking that his arm is aligned with the arrow and that his arm holding the bow is not turned in a wrong angle - well, the video said it was a wrong angle, but Clint has shot like that for years and guess who is the _World’s Greatest Marksman_? Not _archerBB666_ or whoever hides behind that youtube account.

Bucky notices his different posture and - is that a smile on his face? - looks away, focusing on a Hydra member who tries to grab his hair. Clint, too, decides to focus on his target. He shoots his arrow, keeping the youtube posture. He misses. By at least a good twenty centimeters. The man laughs, pointing his gun at the archer. He gags suddenly, and only then Clint notices the ex-Winter Soldier behind the man, his metallic hand inside the man’s rib cage. Bucky shakes his head from side to side, his mouth still pulled downward. He is obviously disappointed in Clint, though the archer has no idea why exactly. Okay, that shot was horrible. But he’d just tried a new technique, and new techniques don’t always work, and certainly not the first time. No need to be disappointed in him for that!

After the mission, as they are flying back to New York, Clint tries to talk to Bucky.

“Dude, I-”  
“So much for the _World’s Greatest Marksman_ ,” cuts in Bucky.  
“Fuck you,” is all Clint can sputter in response.

How dare he?

“That was an easy shot, and yet you couldn’t do it,” says Bucky, standing up to face Clint. “You’re a liability.”  
“Easy now,” intervenes Steve, but it’s already too late.  
“What?” screams Clint.  
“Clint, don’t”  
“But he-.”  
“Clint!” calls Steve in his Captain America voice.

Hawkeye stomps off on the other side of the Helicarrier. He lets himself fall on a seat and decides to count his arrows. He might as well pass the time, since he can’t even defend his honor without offending Captain _fucking_ America.

As soon as they arrive at the tower, Clint goes to the archery range. He’ll show that fucker.

“Jarvis, put on a light training, will ya?”

A few hours later, he is still training, and has managed to hit a total of absolutely no target. He is sweaty and tired and mad - because what the fuck is happening to him? - and he is still covered by dust and sweat and a minimal amount of blood. He decides that he’s had enough of that shit and decides to leave, for now. But as he turns away to exit the room, he notices that Bucky is staring at him through a window - Steve had insisted to be able to see how his companions fared without having to enter the training area, and so Tony had installed windows a few months ago. A disapproving glare is etched firmly on Bucky’s face, and Clint can’t resist shooting him. The window is bullet proof, and he’s shooting a training arrow : he knows it won’t hurt the ex-assassin, but it can’t hurt to try.

As it turns out, it can. The shot destroys whatever was left of Clint’s ego. The arrow hits the window a good 11.2 centimeters away from Bucky’s face. The man looks unimpressed and turns away. What an asshole! It takes a long shower and two bowls of cereals before Clint can stop being mad at the man.

He spends the next days in the archery range of the training room, with no more success. He is furious at himself, at the world and mostly at Bucky. Why can’t he fucking shoot the targets?

By the time the alarm resounds in the tower, calling the Avengers against a group of tentacle monsters raging a war against tourists in Central Park, Clint is tired, sore and still can’t shoot for shit in the “right” position.

As it turns out, he just can’t shoot anymore. Surrounded by the tentacle monsters, he realizes that training for days to shoot in a position that’s not his has fucked up with his stance and aim. He can’t remember how he used to aim his bow. Every hold he tries feels unnatural. He settles for the one Bucky has been pushing him to use, even though he knows he won’t be able to hit his targets. And he’s not pushing his luck by trying to stap the creatures with his arrows. Even he isn’t that stupid. So when Tony tells Sam to take care of the civilians, Clint proposes himself instead, stating that Sam’s attacks are more effective than his arrows. No one seems to believe him, since one of his arrows explodes in the eye socket of a monster at the exact moment he says that, but they let it go. Clint is just glad no one has seen he was targeting another creature, a meter away from the one he actually hit.

Civilian duty is a bore, but at least he is away from the tentacle monsters and no one can see how bad his aim is. He is helping a woman flee when he hears a bark. A dog! Another bark follows. The dog seems distressed. Clint freezes when he realizes the dog is probably being attacked by a slimy creature. He runs to where he heard the sounds. Indeed, a small golden retriever with only one eye - it’s still a puppy - is barking at a large monster in a back alley. Luckily, the creature has not yet realized that he has arrived. He takes an arrow out of his quiver and jumps on the monster - it’s not like he can shoot and risk hitting the poor dog, so he is stuck with stabbing - effectively wounds it. The monster lets out a loud screech as the arrow penetrates its slimy body. His tentacles are moving in every direction around it - it’s like watching a drunk guy trying to kill a fly, except Clint is the fly. Clint dodges one, escape from another that his surging on his left, but gets caught by a third one. It wraps around his arm. He grabs another arrow, determined to overcome the creature, but it throws him on the wall. His head touches the bricks first.

When he manages to stand up again, his vision is swimming and the world is spinning around him, but he has to continue fighting. He has to protect the dog.

He can see a tentacle raise in front of him ready to strike. His hand flies to his quiver, ready to take out another arrow, but he knows it won’t be enough to defend himself.

And it really isn’t. The monster slams him against the wall, with as much force as the time before, and he faints. He only sees a flash of silver before everything turns black.

Clint wakes up to a tongue in his ear. He is lying on his back, somewhere where it smells clean. Probably indoors. He tries to shove whoever is licking him away, but his hand only touches hair. Really dense hair. He opens his eyes. His whole head is hurting, and he is really scared about whom - or what? - is currently licking him. There is a weight on his chest and suddenly a golden dog appears in front of him, licking his nose. It’s the one-eyed puppy from the street, near Central Park. Where the monsters were. The monsters! He jerks in a sitting position, the dog yelping away. He is in the tower, in the medical bay. He’s safe, and so is the dog.

The Winter Soldier is a few meters away, sitting on a large chair. Steve wouldn’t be happy that Clint is still calling him the Winter Soldier, even if only in his head, but the hard stare on Bucky’s face feels pretty much Winter Soldier-y. The reformed assassin has noticed that Clint is awake and moving. He stands up abruptly, his jaw set tight, showing his jaw muscles - which, by the way, wow! - and his fists are holding firmly the chair.

“You almost got killed. For a dog.”

His voice is low, almost more like a growl than actual words. Right on cue, the dog is back on Clint’s chest, his tail flapping from right to left and his pink tongue out.

“A _cute_ dog,” replies the archer as he reaches to pet him. “He was lucky I was there for him. Oh! That’ll be his name, Lucky!”

The dog licks Clint’s right cheek, and the blonde takes it as an agreement. Bucky, however, doesn’t seem to take it as lightly.

“You couldn’t even protect yourself against one monster!” bites Bucky.  
“My arrows weren’t effective against their slimy bodies,” says Clint as a defense, even though he knows it’s false.

Bucky must know it too, because he just looks even more furious. Clint can see a furious gleam in his eyes.

“Then you were useless and should have left, not put yourself in danger and distract us!”

It would be a lie to say those words don’t hurt Clint.

“I wasn’t-” he tries to say, but Bucky doesn’t let him talk.

“Steve was distraught because he couldn’t see you and got hit! When I had to help you because you were defenseless, Natasha got grabbed by two monsters. The only reason they - and you for that matter - weren’t hurt badly is because of pure luck!”

Clint opens his mouth to answer, but no sounds comes out of it. Because of his bad aim, Steve and Tasha could have been hurt. It’s his fault. If he hadn’t tried that new technique and fucked up his skill, then… No! Bucky is the one who told him to change his technique! Bucky is the one who fucked him up!

“You’re the one who fucked up my aim!” he shouts in anger.

Bucky freezes for half a second, and Clint wouldn’t have realized if he wasn’t trained to see exactly that - what’s a spy who can’t gauge people’s reactions?

“If trying to use a good archery technique fucks you up completely, then maybe you shouldn’t be on this team!” he shouts back before leaving the room and slamming the door behind him.

The dog whimpers. Clint caresses his fur to soothe him..

“JARVIS?” he asks as Lucky settles against his legs, “Can you ask Tony if I can keep him?”  
“Sir already authorized you to adopt the dog. His only condition is that you take care of him yourself.”  
“Thanks, JARVIS. Or well, say thanks to Tony from me, please.”  
“Of course.”

There is wait of a few seconds, in which Clint continues to caress the dog’s fur. He is dirty, having probably lived in the streets at least a few weeks, but doesn’t seem to be infested with anything, luckily.

“Sir says that it poses no problem, bro. His words, not mine..”

Clint nods and smiles, knowing that JARVIS can see him - or at least perceive the movement via a sensor or something.

“Come, Lucky, we’re going to see Nat.”  
“If I may,” suddenly says JARVIS, “Sir has hired people to come clean the dog. They will arrive in this room in approximately 9.67 seconds.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. _Approximately_? And indeed, a few seconds later, the door opens, revealing a beautiful dark-skinned woman and a small man with long, curly hair. They grab the dog and leave with a promise that “we’ll be back in two hours” and Clint finds himself alone in his bed.

“Aww, dog. I’ll go see Nat alone, then.”

When he reaches Nat’s room, she is sitting on her bed, reading magazines. She greets him with a nod.  
“Tony said I could keep Lucky! But he hired people to clean him and everything, and they left with him for two whole hours!”

He says dramatically, his hands waving around. Natasha takes something from her pocket, her eyes not leaving the pages, and throws it at Clint, who catches it easily. It’s a little purple bag, inside which are brand new hearing aids.

“Tony made them while you were sleeping. After you almost got yourself killed,” she says icily.

Clint exhales loudly.

“I already had that talk with Barnes, can we talk about something else?”  
“Sure. What do you want to talk about, apart from the fact that a single tentacle monster defeated you?”

He groans, and opens the bag to take out the hearing aids and install them. Ah, now he can hear better.

“Wanna talk about Bucky?” she asks.  
“Why would I want to talk about this fucker?”

She raises an eyebrow, but continues to read her magazine as she talks.

“What about that crush of yours?”  
“I do not have a crush on him!” protests Clint loudly. “He is an asshole! And he is always staring creepily at me, and he started to insult me and he fucked up my technique-”  
“You have no technique,” interrupts the spy.  
“I didn’t have a need for one! But now nothing works and everything that is wrong in my life is because of him! He’s such an asshole.”  
“I thought you liked him,” said Natasha, who still seems more focused on her magazine than on her best friend. She was always the queen of multitasking.  
“Yeah, well, now I hate him,” he repeats sulkily.  
“You said he has a great ass,” continued the redhead, not looking away from her reading.  
“Right now, all I’d want to put up his ass is an explosive arrow. Or a grapple.”

This time, Natasha looks up and eyes him.

“That much?”  
“Yes,” groans the archer, flopping himself on the bed next to her.  
“I also remember you telling me all about his beautiful arm,” she says, her eyes going back to the page she was reading.  
“Tony too has a metal arm, and he’s even less of an asshole,” he counters.  
“It’s not that arm I remember you telling me about.”  
“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t remember well,” replies Clint sharply.

He regrets the words as soon as they exit his mouth.

“Sorry Nat, I don’t want to take it out on you.”  
“It’s okay,” she answers, but it doesn’t make him feel better. “You should rest, you’re tired.”

Clint hesitates for a few seconds, but decides against denying it. He’s too tired to argue.

“Will you stay?”  
“Of course,” is all Natasha answers, concentrated on her magazine. “It’s my room.”

Clint chuckles and looks at her magazine. On the page is written in big “What kind of best friend are you?”

“The best,” he says before settling on the largest pillow.

She doesn’t answer, but Clint is pretty sure he can hear her smile. Sleep finds him easily, and lets himself rest.

The next day he goes on his first walk with Lucky. The people from the hair salon also came back with a leash, a collar, dog food and a dog bed - as if Clint won’t share his own bed with him - and Clint will have to find a way to pay back Tony. The money isn’t a problem, but the Stark Ego™ is. Until then, Lucky still has to go outside. After all, he is a growing puppy.

The walk goes well. Clint is not really used to walk around - what point is there to that when you can ride a Quinjet instead? - but Lucky seems to appreciate it. Because Clint isn’t one to rise at the crack of dawn like the supersoldiers and Sam, it’s already early afternoon when they go out, and it’s sunny and warm. He treats himself to an ice cream, just because he deserves it.

The afternoon, which was quite agreeable, goes sour when Clint finds himself in the middle of a bank robbery orchestrated by AIM. It’s not his fault, really. It’s not like he knew the bank was going to be robbed by AIM - a villainous organization that has never robbed banks before - at the exact moment he walks by. One of the AIM agents pushes him away as he enters the bank, and Clint’s ice cream falls to the floor.

“Aww, ice cream.”

And that’s how he finds himself fighting two dozen of AIM agents with only the small knife he had hidden in his boots, Lucky awaiting him outside. Just because he has to avenge his delicious snack.

By the time the Avengers arrive - the police only arrives two minutes later, as they don’t have super suits and Quinjets - Clint has defeated at least half the agents. Of course Bucky is seething as he walks in, his metallic fist ready to bash some heads in. Clint freezes when he see the dark glare that is directed to him. Guess who is mad again? You guessed right, Bucky Barnes! The few seconds during which he stops his movement is enough for an AIM agent to shoot him. The bullet goes right through his left leg, and now Bucky looks even more furious. 

“Aww, bullet.”

The rest of the Avengers easily vanquish the AIM agents, mostly because Natasha is baddass like that. Bucky has grabbed the archer and taken him to safety, and Clint watches Natasha strangle a man with her thighs as he is led away on Bucky’s shoulder. Bruce is there, very much human and not green, holding a wiggling Lucky.

“Animals don’t like the other guy,” he says as he hands over the dog to his rightful owner.  
“Don’t worry, he’ll warm up to the big dude,” says Clint with confidence and a cocky smile.

They are a group, a family - Ohana means family and family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten, Clint knows his classics - and he’ll make sure Lucky and Bruce get along. Bruce opens his mouth to answer, but Bucky leads Clint away, carrying him instead to a Quinjet. Clint is holding Lucky in his arms, and thus Bucky is carrying him like a princess. It’s awkward and Clint is more than happy to finally sit on the jet. Bucky drives them back to the tower, and Bruce follows on another Quinjet.

Unfortunately, when they reach the tower, Bucky grabs Clint and carries him to the med bay like a princess, _again_. Lucky trots frantically behind them, his little paws too small to follow Bucky’s long legs. Bruce grabs the dog to carry him, and the dog is still trembling in fear by the time they arrive to the med bay. Bucky dumps him on a bed and Bruce leaves the dog on the floor.

“I’ll need you to remove your pants, Clint,” says Bruce, taking out medical instruments and a white coat.  
“If you ask this nicely, doctor,” laughs Clint, accompanying his remark with a wink, but obeying nonetheless.  
“You know I’m not that kind of doctor,” says Bruce sternly, slipping on latex gloves with a loud slap.  
“Too bad,” grimaces Clint when he sees the state of his leg.

There’s a hole in his skin, and everything is covered in thick, dark blood. All of a sudden, the adrenaline wears off and the pain makes itself known. The archer flops back on the bed, groaning in pain.

“I’ll take the dog away,” announces Bucky.  
“Good thinking,” responds Bruce before Clint can protest. “It’ll be more sanitary this way. Good news, Clint, the bullet went through. It’ll be faster and easier to patch you up.”

Clint rejoices until he realizes that _faster_ doesn’t mean _fast_.

The next morning, Clint is given a pair cool crutches by Tony. Bruce had already given him a pair, but Tony’s are purple and can carry a bow and a quiver. They make Clint very happy, but Tony just waves off his thanks and goes back to his lab. Clint parades with them, happy to be able to carry his bow and arrows - even though they are currently useless. Clint stops being happy ten minutes later, when he realizes that the crutches don’t make the walking easier, faster or less tiring. God he hates being hurt.

When he gets to the kitchen, only Bucky is there, eating breakfast. Clint almost wants to leave, but his need for coffee is stronger than whatever is currently happening between the sniper and him. When he sees him, Bucky stands up.

“Do you need help?” he asks.  
“No, thanks. I’m a grown man.”

The brunette frowns but sits back and continues to eat. It’s a bit pitiful and Clint instantly feels back.

“Thanks for bringing me back,” he says. “Sorry you missed the fight.”  
“It’s okay. Contrary to what you seem to believe, I have other interests than fighting with people.”

Clint laughs before he can stop himself. Who knew Bucky knows humour? Until now, he had managed to keep his ability to make jokes well-hidden. The archer can see the corner of Bucky’s mouth twitch. The fucker is so proud of himself! It’s easy to forget their recent enmity when Bucky almost-smiles like that.

Clint is too occupied watching Bucky’s face to look at where he’s going and he trips on his crutches. Bucky catches him with his metallic arm, which isn’t a great cushion, but at least Clint doesn’t fall to the floor. His crutches, however, do fall with a loud clang.

“Aww, crutches.”

Bucky lowers himself and grabs them. Clint coos when the man gives them back to him.

“Thanks, my hero!” he says as he winks playfully.

Bucky doesn’t seem to like the joke, as he quickly turns away.

“Crutches aren’t exactly practical,” says Clint blandly. He doesn’t know what else he could say.  
“Being shot isn’t exactly practical,” mimics Bucky.

His tone is flat and Clint isn’t sure if it’s meant as a quip or as a jab, so he just ignores it.

“I can walk Lucky, if you want,” proposes Bucky.  
“Hell no,” protests Clint. “I don’t trust you with the life of my dog! And anyway Sam already said he’ll take care of him.”

It comes out as harsher than he intended, and Bucky reacts defensively, grimacing and brows furrowed.

“I’m not that bad with animals!”  
“Isn’t killing baby animals your only hobby?” shoots back Clint.

And okay, that comes out as a lot harsher than even his previous comment. And Steve walks in at that moment.

“Clint!” he shouts, offended on behalf of his best friend.

Bucky only stands up and walks away, fists clenched. Clint can’t see his face, but he knows he fucked up. Plus, he is stuck listening to an hour-long lecture by Steve on why it’s important to be nice to your teammates and how to avoid insulting them. He spends the whole lecture thinking about how Bucky has fucked up his aim and how much he hates him, even though they were joking together a few minutes ago.

“What’s up between you and Bucky, exactly?” asks Steve at the end of his tirade.  
“Nothing. He’s just being an asshole.”  
“Language,” chimes in Steve.

Clint just rolls his eyes and continues to speak.

“He’s been critiquing my technique and all. Said I shouldn’t even be on the team.”

Steve frowns.

“He said that?” he repeats, incredulous. “Are you sure you are not misinterpreting or overreacting?”  
“How would you react if I told you that you can’t throw your shield for shit and that you should be benched? There’s not so many ways to interpret that,” retorts Clint, crossing his arms. “I get that he’s your best friend and that you want to defend him, but-”  
“But it’s not like him to say that!” insists Steve. “Maybe he’s worried, or nervous, or-”  
“Or maybe he just changed in the seven tenths of a century you were sleeping!” bites back Clint.

Steve freezes and pales. His eyes are shining and oh god, as Captain America going to cry because of him? Shit, shit, shit!

“But probably not’” he tries, “he’s still a super duper guy! You’re best friend, really! Super cool, not an assassin at all, with a nice ass, and-”

Immediately Steve raises an eyebrow and smiles. Clint understands only too late how good of an actor Steve is.

“Nice ass?”  
“Shut up!”

Steve’s smile just broadens.

“You should talk to him.”  
“No, I’m-”  
“Clint.” Clint stops talking. There’s no going against Steve when he uses his Captain America’s voice. “Talk to him. I’m sure that, no matter how much of a jerk he has been, he had a reason for it.”  
“Maybe he hates me, or despises me, or loathes me, or abhors me, or maybe he just thinks I’m dumb, or stupid, or-”  
“Clint!”  
“After my coffee.”  
“Clint.”  
“Do you want me to be in a bad mood before I even face him?”

Steve exhales loudly.

“I’ll make you one.”

Clint whoops and sits next to Bucky’s abandoned breakfast. Cool, there’s bacon left! He enjoys the last, lonely, cold strip of bacon, and then his hot cup of coffee. When he has eaten and drunk every thing, Steve faces him.

“Now you don’t have any excuse,” is all he say.

Clint grumbles but follows Steve's order. JARVIS helps him locate Barnes - who is in the training room. He has to wait for the elevator - for the first time since he moved in to the tower - which earns a “Aww, elevator.”

Bucky is only wearing a tank top, sweat glistening on his muscular body. He is focused and hasn’t seen Clint yet - and it’s not like the crutches are subtle or anything. The archer takes the time to observe the reformed assassin before calling out to Jarvis for him - or it? - to pause the training. Bucky growls at the sudden pause and turns to face Clint.

“What do you want?”

Clint tries to avoid looking at how transparent Bucky’s tank top is, and how his nipples are visible through it.

“Steve said we should talk. He pretends that there’s a reason why you’ve been acting like a jerk.”  
“Like a jerk?” repeats Bucky.  
“Yeah. All you’ve been doing in the last days has been criticizing me, glaring and growling at me.”  
“I don’t growl,” grunted Bucky.  
“Yeah, right.”  
“I saved you from the monster,” argued Bucky. “And I helped for your extraction, in the bank.”

It is true, but Clint doesn’t want to recognize it. Bucky exhales loudly, probably annoyed by Clint’s stubbornness.

“What does Steve want us to talk about?”  
“Dunno. He pretended to cry a bit, then ordered me to talk to you. I had no idea he was that good of an actor. Did you know?”

Bucky bursts out laughing.

“How do you think he was every teacher’s pet even though he started a fist fight almost every day of the damn week?”  
“Shut up, really?” Clint laughs as he fist bumps Bucky’s shoulder - he regrets it as soon as his soft hand touches the metal.

It only makes Bucky laugh harder.

“Shut up, jerk,” grins the archer.  
“What now, I’m a jerk because you hit me?” exclaims Bucky.  
“Yes,” grumbles Clint.

A silence stretches over the following seconds. Bucky is still smiling and sweating, and Clint can’t stop staring at him.

“I’m sorry for saying you shouldn’t be on the team,” finally says Bucky, breaking the silence. “I was just worried for you?”  
“Why?” asks Clint, feeling defensive. “I’ve been a SHIELD agent for a hell of a long time. And I’ve been able to take care of myself for even longer. I don’t need you to tell me-”  
“You got shot in a bank robbery, just yesterday! I saved you from a tentacle monster the day before, a week ago you feel from a Quinjet, two weeks ago you accidentally activated a bomb, three weeks ago you fell from the top of the tower and Tony only caught you because he saw you fall through the window, last month you got captured by Hydra-”  
“They had a dog!” squealed Clint.  
“And you fell right through their trap!”  
“And what? Just because I’m a bit unlucky I don’t deserve to be on this team?” objects Clint, shoving Bucky away from him.  
“You’re not unlucky, you’re reckless!” shouts Bucky.  
“You know what’s reckless?” shouts back Clint, “Fucking up my aim! Now I can’t shoot for shit and I’ve got a bullet through my leg! Is that what you wanted?” He can see guilt flash in Bucky’s eyes, but he continues his diatribe. “Are you happy now that I’m benched?”  
“That’s not what I wanted,” protests Bucky weakly.  
“Then what did you want?”  
“I just wanted to make sure you were safe! I knew your technique wasn’t the best, and I didn’t… I wanted…” he exhales loudly, and passes a hair through his hair, “I was afraid. For you.”  
“What for? I was the _World’s Greatest Marskman_.”  
“You still are,” frowns Bucky.  
“No, not right now. I feel more like I’m the World’s Worst Archer.”  
“I’m really sorry.”

Bucky looks quite pitiful, his eyes staring at his feet and his wet hair stuck to his forehead. Clint can’t stay mad at him, not when he looks so devastated.

“It’s okay, dude, I forgive you.”

Bucky’s head snaps up so fast it’s a miracle Clint doesn’t hear his neck crack - and he is wearing his hearing aids, thank you.

“But you’ll have to train with me. Repair your damage and all,” he adds with a wink.

Bucky nods eagerly.

“But why were you so worried about me, anyway? Was I that bad?”  
“No, it’s that… I can’t tell you.”  
“What? Dude, that’s unfair! Please! Pretty please!”

Clint is not above pleading to get what he wants - and as never been - and everyone knows it, but it’s the first time Bucky is facing his puppy eyes. He stands no chance. And indeed, the reformed assassin lets out a long exhale and ruffles his hair again.

“Okay, but you have to promise that you won’t be mad, that you won’t hate me, that you won’t laugh and that you won’t tell anyone, especially not Tony.”

Clint eyes him distrustfully, but it’s probably not something too bad, so he agrees. Bucky lets out another exhale, stares at Clint right in the eyes - his stormy eyes are beautiful, by the way - and blurts out:

“I like you.”  
“Everyone likes me,” responds Clint, raising an eyebrow.  
“No, I _like_ you.”  
“Like I said-”  
“No, like, I like-like you.”

Clint freezes for a moment, not sure to understand.

“Like, you like me like like-like me?”  
“Yes! I like-like you! I’m sorry if-”  
“You _like-like_ me!” shouts Clint, only understanding then.  
“Yes, we’ve been over tha-”

Clint doesn’t let him finish his sentence and kisses him. Bucky’s lips are hard and warm and welcoming. The metallic hand cradles Clint’s hip and his flesh one, his back. His grip is tight and hot and Clint feel as though he will melt in Bucky’s embrace. One of his hand reaches Bucky’s hair, pulling him ever closer. The crutch is balanced between their hips, and the other is in Clint’s hand. Suddenly there is a tongue in his mouth and it is all Clint can think of. Bucky’s hand goes from his back to his ass, and was that groan Clint’s? Bucky’s beard is rough against Clint’s skin - he’ll probably get beard burn - but it feels so good.

Suddenly there’s a faint noise behind them, and before he realizes, Clint has seized his bow and an arrow and is shooting toward the source of the sound. Which is Tony. The engineer manages to dodge the arrow, but can’t save a strand of hair. The arrow has hit the side of the door, its shaft vibrating where Tony’s face was a mere second before.

“Okay then, sorry to interrupt! It’s not like it’s my tower and everything,” Tony leaves the room urgently, probably feeling threatened, but his head reappears in the doorway a few seconds later. “There are rooms for that, you know!”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something really angsty, but Clint refused to be insecure and led that story on a different path. Which is a good thing, because I realized as I wrote that, had I followed my first idea, he would have been really OOC. Also it was supposed to be only 3000 words long :)


End file.
